


Your Soul for a Heart

by ChangeTheCircumstances



Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Afterlife, Fix-It, M/M, Post-Movie, Supernatural AU - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-20
Updated: 2015-07-20
Packaged: 2018-04-10 08:24:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4384478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChangeTheCircumstances/pseuds/ChangeTheCircumstances
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Lancelot's death, Percival mourns, heals, only for a sewn together figure to show up at his door one day with impossible claims.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Your Soul for a Heart

**Author's Note:**

> This is not connected to "You're An Asshole But I Love You" but like that story, Percival's name is Alastair and there are some elements that may be similar. Otherwise, completely different story. Enjoy!

Alastair wished he’d died on V-Day.

Lancelot was alive, moving, working for Kingsman. Lancelot was fixing the world. But James was dead, sliced in half by the ones that had been in league with Chester King.

Just the thought of the name brought bile to Alastair’s throat and he finished off his glass only to pour another full one, the smell of the whiskey finally becoming mixed with his breath after the third glass.

Alastair was beginning to think he could no longer be Percival, that he could no longer continue to obey what had once been something so pure. He still trusted Merlin, or Arthur he supposed now. He knew the new Lancelot would do a good job, she was his sister after all, and he knew if the new Galahad could make Harry proud then he was trustworthy as well. But despite the renewing of the organization, despite the evil that had been fleshed out, Alastair no longer felt connected.

He could not call himself Percival with a clear conscience.

If he had looked deeper, if he hadn’t trusted the organization as much as he had, perhaps James would still be alive or at the very least Alastair could have had the pleasure of killing Chester King himself.

He finished off his drink again, closed his eyes, and tried to allow the numbing feeling to spread. However, the pain was still there despite the haze that seemed to cloud his mind now and if anything, the pain had grown.

With eyes still closed, Alastair set his glass down and grabbed the bottle, ready to pour his fifth glass, only to finally open his eyes and set it down again.

“Perhaps I’ve had more than four,” Alastair murmured to himself as his eyes settled on James’ face. The pain in his chest flared and Alastair cursed the hallucination. “Fuck you. Fuck you for just making everything worse.”

In front of him stood James with an even scar running down the center of his body with stitches across it. Disappearing in his hair, it went from the center of his face and down his neck, disappearing behind the clothing that James wore and presumably rapping all the way around his body. The fabric on his body was new, slimmer fitting and not as thick so definitely not a Kingsman suit. There was no tie, the white shirt unbuttoned instead and the slacks and jacket retained that horrible plaid pattern he always liked, though this one a dark green instead of yellow.

“Never thought you’d start drinking over me.”

“And now it’s fucking talking to me. Either I’ve drank way more than I thought or I’m going fucking insane,” growled out Alastair as he decided to hell with it and poured another glass instead.

James laughed in response, god it sounded so real, and grinned. When he talked the second time, Alastair noticed the stitches ran down the center of his gums and tongue as well. God he was fucked up in the head.

“I can assure you that neither are true. Though I do believe you are very drunk.”

“No I’m not.”

“Of course you are. You’re slurring words together worse than an alcoholic after leaving a free liquor store and if you really believe I’m not here, then you most certainly would only admit to seeing me while drunk. If you were sober, you’d still be to proud to admit you’d gone insane.”

“You say that but you’ve only proved your unrealness. Only something from my mind could know my innermost thoughts.”

“Or, like I’ve always said, you’re just easy to read when you’re drunk,” James replied, rather amused. “But enough about that. I’m here to make you an offer.”

Alastair snorted and wiped at his face as he muttered, “What? Like demons in those stories? You want my soul?”

“In a way.”

“Now I definitely know this isn’t real! No way would you end up in Hell. You were to much of a saint. Saint James.” Alastair let out a slightly drunk giggle as James laughed in response.

“I wasn’t supposed to but I traded my soul for my heart instead. And I’m offering you the same thing,” replied James.

“That doesn’t make any sense.”

“I may be a joker and like to make things weird and confusing but I’m perfectly serious right now. Your soul is your conscience and is what decides your eternal resting place. But seeing as my heart was currently broken and likely to get damned anyways what with its current path,” James paused to give an accusing glance, “I decided a heart was more important.”

Alastair shook his fuzzy head, trying to think through the words logically even though that was rather stupid seeing as none of it was real and he was drunk as hell. “So what? I get damned and…”

“We never have to part ways,” James said earnestly. “Imagine that. Being able to bicker and joke like we always do but this time nothing in the way, only us.”

“There’s one thing,” Alastair said with a wavy hand. “I’m not dead,” he sang.

“That’s easy enough to fix.”

James flickered in front of him, suddenly much closer than before, as something stung in Alastair’s midsection.

Alastair looked down and watched as a knife cut through cloths and skin. It should have hurt but he could only laugh as he slurred, “My imagination is really fucked up.”

“For the last time, you’re not imagining any of this silly. Now do you agree to exchange your soul for your heart?”

“Sure. Why not,” Alastair laughed.

James only gave a sad smile and said, “Do you really not believe me? Even after all I’ve said?”

Alastair only giggled in response as a numbness different from that of the alcohol began to spread through his body. His mind tried to rationalize it but the words didn’t come to his head and it was difficult enough focusing in on James’ face.

“Fine, I’ll prove it to you,” James replied and then pushed in for a kiss.

Alastair could feel the raised stitches as they brushed against his own face and as the ones on James’ tongue felt inside Alastair’s mouth. It felt wet and deep, heat rolling off both of them. Ignoring the stitches, it was so familiar, so clearly James kissing…

So obviously real.

The comprehension brought an even brighter flair to Alastair’s midsection as he choked on the kiss and began to panic, finally grabbing hold of James, real fabric in his hands. James broke the kiss even though Alastair pulled him closer as if doing so would somehow help the bleeding.

And yes, he was bleeding.

Oh Christ it was all real! What had he done? What had he just promised himself to? Darkness began to creep into the edges of his vision despite the crystal clear feeling pain that he now felt. He could just barely make out James leaning ever so slightly back.

“I told you this was real.”

Alastair could no longer keep his eyes open. They slipped closed, the moment seeming like a second, when suddenly the fuzziness and the pain was gone and Alastair was trying to jump forward only to be stopped by a pair of hands.

“Woah there! You can’t stand up just yet. Your insides would just fall out everywhere,” James said with an easy laugh. “But don’t worry, I’m almost done. Just a few more stitches and then you’ll be good as new.”

“I’m dreaming,” whispered Alastair. “I have to be. No way is this real. It’s completely impossible. The dead stay dead.”

“Hey, it’s perfectly natural to freak out, you should have seen me, but trying to deny that this is all real will only make things worse down the line.”

“But if that’s true…you killed me! You stabbed me!” cried out Alastair.

“Yes.”

“Don’t you…don’t you feel—”

“I told you, my conscience is gone, as is yours too. I’m simply happy that you’re finally here with me. That’s all that matters.”

“How can you say that?! I have a conscience I have…I have…I remember having them…I think. But no! I still have them! I definitely still have them!”

“You’ll fight that feeling for a bit but once you realize that you can literally do anything, you’ll be fine,” replied James with a kind smile. “For example, I could kill somebody walking down the street in front of your flat right now, or I could drag you off this chair and have you on this floor. No guilt would come of it, no pesky ideas of morals and ethics would cloud my mind. Of course happiness or sadness can be felt but you needn’t worry about the crushing weight that society pushes upon us.”

“You’re insane!” yelled Alastair as James made the final snip in the stitches across Alastair’s stomach.

“First you think you’re insane, now you think I am,” James said with a roll of his eyes. He suddenly grabbed Alastair by the shoulders and pulled him off the chair, onto the floor, and climbed on top of him. “We are free together forever and you get hung up on the morals of the situation. Doesn’t this feel good?”

James kissed Alastair as he dropped his body and kept the other from moving. “Come on, react like you always do. Squirm, moan, get embarrassed at every…little…touch. You are no longer promised to anything.”

The words seemed to echo in Alastair’s mind as his back automatically arched, even when fighting the urge. Nevertheless, the words ‘no longer promised to anything’ continued to go through him as he finally began to feel the thing missing inside him. It felt like a physical loss despite the fact ones conscience was no physical thing. Or maybe it was. Alastair wasn’t sure of anything anymore.

The feeling of loss continued to grow but with it another thing filled it so that for the split second that he missed it, that feeling was gone as well.

Suddenly, Alastair was pushing up and dragging James over until Alastair was on top. Now with James pinned down, Alastair pushed their bodies together, and moved his mouth to James’ ear to whisper, “I’m still promised to you.”

Alastair moved his mouth all over, connecting his with James’ own last, but even then he could still feel the smile on the other’s lips as even the memory of a conscience began to slip from Alastair’s mind.


End file.
